Sins of the Father
by lookitstj
Summary: Ben barely remembers the drunk driver who hit him and his mom ten years ago. That is until his mother is burned alive on her bedroom ceiling and said drunk driver walks through his door as an FBI agent. With the enigmatic hunter Elijah by his side and the secretive Winchesters watching his back, Ben finds himself trying to solve the mystery of what happened to his mom. And why?


"What do you want?" The young man was sitting in what doubled as both the living and bedroom of his apartment and was glaring at the ceiling. No audible voice replied, but his scowl deepened regardless.

"You want me to do what? I'm not sure if you noticed, but I kinda can't do much of anything right now, no thanks to you!" He snapped, angrily jumping up from his futon. Anger ruined his otherwise handsome face. He winced at something before taking a deep breath. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Why don't you stop making me jump through all these damn hoops?! How about you give me-" He winced again, although this time it was more of a flinch. He gritted his teeth and glared at the ceiling.

"Fine, I'll do it. But, thanks again to you, I have no way of getting there. How are you gonna fix that?" The young man, who appeared to be of Hispanic origin, shouted mockingly. There was a high-pitched whining and he turned just in time to see the coffee shatter. He wasn't near fast enough to react as several shards of glass cut in his arms and face. He looked down at arms, where he had managed to block some of the glass. He watched, mesmerized, as the pieces of glass seem to pushed out of his skin, which closed over itself. He dug his phone out his pocket just in the time to see the last of the cuts heal. The young man sighed.

"I guess it's a start," he said as he swiped his keys off the counter. He opened his door and looked back at the somewhat dirty apartment. He was surprised to find that he was actually going to miss it. With a final sigh, he shut the door.

* * *

It was day three when a knock came at the Braeden door. Ben stared at the door. Something inside him, common courtesy he supposed, told him that he should answer, but he couldn't find the will to move. Ever since that night, Ben had been unable to find the will to do much. The knock came again, this time more frantic than before and the doorbell rang several times in a row. Ben just stared at the door. Eventually whoever it was would go away.

Ben's mind began to go back to that night when he heard something he wasn't expecting. He turned to look at the door and saw the lock slowly turning. Someone was picking the lock. Ben cursed his luck and ran to where his mother hid his old steel bat from little league baseball. The pain shot through his heart, but Ben pushed it aside as he grabbed the bat. In three quick strides he was at the front door just as it opened.

"Whoa!" One of the two men said as he jumped back and held his hands up. Ben hadn't noticed that he was breathing heavily. There were two men at his door, one significantly taller than his companion, who regarded Ben curiously.

"What the hell do you want?" Ben growled as he raised the bat menacingly. Slowly the taller of the sharply dressed men pulled something out of his pocket and nudged his partner to do the same. Ben lowered his bat when he saw the FBI badges, but his glare remained. The taller individual carefully stepped into the house, keeping an eye on Ben. His partner, continued staring at Ben, as if he were some difficult equation that couldn't quite be worked out in his head.

"We're sorry, we didn't think anyone was still here. What's your name, kid?" The taller of the men asked. They were both older men, Ben noticed, probably in their early-to-mid forties and carried themselves more like soldiers than federal agents. Ben kept a cautious eye on them as he said his name. He watched as the color drained from the shorter man's face. The taller man took a deep breath, his mouth pressed in a firm, thin line.

"My name's Ben Braeden."

**SUPERNATURAL**

The dining room was dangerously quiet as Ben sat with the taller man, who had introduced himself as agent Jacob White. His partner, Brandon Ewing, had gone upstairs to check for any residual evidence.

"Look, Ben, I'm really sorry about your mom." Agent White began, but Ben sent him a glare that told him to stop. The agent's look was almost pleading, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't allowed. The uncomfortable silence was made somewhat less uncomfortable by the sound of agent Ewing's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Nothing," he announced to no one in particular. A question began to burn in the back of Ben's mind.

"Why is the FBI interested in this?" Agent Ewing still looked somewhat green, although he had regained most of his composure. For once, it was him who spoke. Ben found the voice strangely familiar, although he couldn't quite place it or the face it belonged to.

"There were similar incidents that happened a couple of decades ago. We just want to make sure it's something that won't get out of hand." His voice was professional, but Ben noticed a strange edge in the man's voice. Whatever those incidents had been, they were clearly personal. Ben could see pain in the man's green eyes. Suddenly the memory hit Ben like a train. "Agent White" was standing up when Ben spoke.

"You're not FBI," Ben said, his voice low. Both men turned to look at him curiously.

"What'd you say kid?" Ewing asked. Ben's face was livid.

"You're not goddamn FBI agents. You're that drunk bastard that hit me and my mom!" Ben roared as he jumped forward. The next few seconds went by in a whirlwind and Ben found his head forced onto the wall with his arm twisted painfully behind his back. He struggled hopelessly, but the Agent White had him pinned against the wall with an incredible amount of force.

"Relax Ben, and I'll let you go." He said, his voice calm and just slightly sympathetic. Ben thrashed as much as he could, but agent White showed no signs of budging. It was obvious that, whoever he was, he was used to holding down men far stronger than an emotional 21-year-old boy. After several long seconds, Ben relaxed. Slowly, agent White released his grip. Ben caught the face of agent Ewing, who sighed.

"Ben, about that night. I'm sorry, I really am. But I am not the one you're mad at right now." It was clear from his voice that Ewing wasn't much in the way of talking people down. Or maybe it was just that Ben was so angry the man's voice didn't affect him.

"Go fuck yourself," Ben snorted. Agent Ewing's face contorted into a sort of confused rage and for a moment, Ben thought he had gone too far. Then, the man let out a deep, angry breath. Ben would later note that Ewing's face reminded him of the dads he saw on TV who would get mad when their son cussed at them or did something equally outrageous and unexpected.

"Look, Ben," White said calmly. It was slightly disturbing how a man as old as agent White could still pull of pleading, doe-eyes, but the taller of the two FBI agents managed to do so while still maintaining his masculinity. "Do you have anywhere you can go for a while?" Ben looked down.

"I was just visiting when it happened. I go to Dakota State." Agent White nodded and his unspoken comment filled the room. _Go back to your place, let us handle this. _

"You believe me, don't you?" Ben asked, although he was more asking for confirmation than pleading that White and Ewing believed his story. The two mens' faces said it all. They more than believed Ben. They themselves had experienced it.

"How is it possible? What was...How-?"

"Ben," it was agent Ewing who spoke. "Go back to school. We'll handle this."

* * *

_Morgan's _was the only bar in the small, South Dakota town that Ben had lived in since he was a kid. The bartender, a fairly attractive woman in what was likely a fake eye-patch looked him over skeptically when he had arrived. Ben had always looked younger than he was and getting carded wasn't exactly anything new. It was about one in the morning when Ben left the bar, not completely wasted, but definitely breaking public intoxication laws. The cops likely wouldn't bother him. Everyone had heard about the Braeden incident by now. The shitty part of living in a small town, Ben thought bitterly.

Without thinking, he found himself at his old high school, one of two in town, where his mom had insisted on driving him even after he got his license. Part of him had found it annoying, but at the same time he understood. Ever since that agent Ewing had drunkenly crashed into them, they had felt fiercely protective of each other. Even now, Ben looked at everyone suspiciously. He wasn't sure why, but he felt as if there were simply some monsters that looked as human as he did. It was more than a feeling, Ben had realized during his freshman year. It was something that he simply knew, deep within his core.

A movement caught his eye and Ben quickly looked up, only to see nothing. His heart began beating faster and already he could feel the adrenaline sobering him up. Of course, Ben had always been naturally good at holding his liquor. He and his mother simply chalked it up to genetics. Ben looked around him, searching for any sign that he was or wasn't alone. A small voice told Ben to investigate, the still inebriated part of his brain. But Ben had seen enough horror films to start walking off towards Morgan's. He wasn't sure why he had left the car there.

Another shadow moved and Ben turned. This time he saw a figure dash behind the school. He rolled his eyes. Kids just being kids, he assumed. Then, he felt something pull him backwards. He let out a surprised yelp as some invisible force wrapped around his torso and flung several yards towards the school. The alcohol absorbed most of the fall, although Ben still felt dizzy. Ben quickly stood up, his head whipping from left to right. He was breathing heavily at this point, confusion and fear obvious in his face.

There was no one in the area, which left Ben to ponder what exactly it was that had sent him flying this way. Wind? No, Ben was positive that something had grabbed him. Ben considered making a dash off the school property, but he had the distinct feeling that the mysterious force would simply drag him back. With a grim sigh, he made his way behind the school where he had seen the figure dash from before.

Ben saw no one around the old baseball field, which was inconveniently filled with tall weeds and the like. Ben remembered kids coming back here to do drugs and other fairly illicit activities. Even Ben had hooked up in the field once or twice, despite feeling that the experience definitely wasn't worth the risk. He had gotten a tick on his member once and that was the last time he had ever gone into the field. Until now.

He felt a prickling sensation on his neck and turned around. There was no one there, but Ben had the sinking suspicion he was being watched. A disturbingly familiar sensation washed over him, but Ben couldn't place it. He bent his knees slightly, drawing on the admittedly fair amount of martial arts he knew. His senses were on high alert and he flinched when the school's intercom system screeched on. There was a pause and everything was still. A voice suddenly began to chant in a language Ben didn't know.

He yelped when he heard several screams and groans come from the grass around him. He felt his heart beating dangerously fast and black spots began to cloud his vision. Ben cried out again when something tackled into him.

"Come on, we have to get out of here now." The individual said as he practically shoved Ben. The figure, a guy somewhere around Ben's age, was stronger than he looked although Ben was panicking and wasn't quite sure if he was truly resisting or not. Ben's eyes looked up and went wide when he saw dozens of streams of smoke fill the night sky. But somehow, Ben knew it wasn't smoke.

_Demons_ was the last word he thought before he passed out.

* * *

Ben bolted upright as soon as he became conscious and was greeted by a slight headache. He looked around the unfamiliar room. It was a hotel room, he realized. He was in one bed and and there was another bed to his right. Ben immediately realized it was occupied. The guy turned and looked at him. He was handsome, Ben had to admit. He was some sort of Hispanic, with light bronze skin and dark brown eyes. Ben forced the creeping feeling of inadequacy out of his mind.

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?" Ben demanded. The young man, turned to Ben with an amused grin.

"Hey, what's up Sleeping Beauty? You can call me Elijah."

**Well, here's the first chapter of this. If you like it, lemme know. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
